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up his mind, sweating coldly in his office, feeling the eyes of
people probing into him, watching the clock and hoping for
the time to come when he would know that it was too late.
Then, at last, dragging his club foot down the hall of the
courthouse and into the square and down the street, slow and
uncertain at first, and then, as time rushed on, dragging it
faster, painfully faster, hurrying to reach his little house,
where he could get to the telephone and nobody would see,
Mr. Munn thought of him lying awake all night in his bed,
sweating, thinking, They'll find out, they'll find out.

" A miss is as good as a mile, though," Doctor MacDonald
said.

"Yes."

"I hope he don't lose his job," Doctor MacDonald re-
marked. Then: " He sure didn't stand to gain anything. The
poor old fool."

Mr. Munn studied him. " There're a lot of fools," he ob-
served. " You," he said slowly, " for instance. You're a fool.
What did you stand to gain? All you stood to gain was to
have to hide out to keep from jail."

"Or the rope," Doctor MacDonald answered, "if the
bastards can play it their way."

" We're all damned fools.   A lot of us, anyway."

"People are damned fools in different ways. They got
different stuff in them."

"You can't figure out Smullins," Mr. Munn told him.
"Well, I can't figure you out."

"Neither can I," Doctor MacDonald returned amiably.
" Been trying for years. But I can't do it." He leaned back
comfortably, shoving the pillow.

" I can't figure myself out," Mr. Munn said, " sometimes."

Doctor MacDonald let the smoke drift easily from his nos-
trils. He glanced up at the low ceiling, as though in reflec-
tion; then about the room, letting his eyes rest upon the
steady flame of the lamp on the dresser, and then, casually,
upon Mr. Munn's face. " I reckon a man goes his gait," he
said, and yawned*